


position players have more fun

by mitzvahmelting



Series: hoe kelly [1]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Comfort Sex, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, M/M, Social Anxiety, Swimming Pools, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 12:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18180674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitzvahmelting/pseuds/mitzvahmelting
Summary: So they've just landed in Cincinnati, and Benny says he's got a friend of a friend who's out of town for the weekend, lending Benny the house so he doesn't need to stay in the hotel like usual. Brock's crashing at the house with him. And there's a pool. And they invite Joe to come with.accidental hoe kelly origin story?





	position players have more fun

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place before any hoe kelly shenanigans. he's a lil repressed at the start of this story.

The thing is, position players have more fun. That's just how it is. Joe tries to squeeze his fun in where he can, but the pitching coaches keep them on a pretty tight daily regimen.

The position players get to be just guys, hanging out, working out, swinging their bats or whatever. The pitchers are delicate little wind-up toys, look-don't-touch.  
  
So when Joe starts feeling a twinge in his shoulder and the team doctor prescribes "Rest", Joe doesn't really know what to do with all his free time. He could just mope around the clubhouse; that's what Sale does when he's hurt. But Joe's not very good at moping - he gets bored of it, fast.  
  
So they've just landed in Cincinnati, and Benny says he's got a friend of a friend who's out of town for the weekend, lending Benny the house so he doesn't need to stay in the hotel like usual. Brock's crashing at the house with him. And there's a pool. And they invite Joe to come with.  
  
Maybe they're only inviting him because he looks like he's a little bummed out that he can't play tomorrow. Whatever. He'll take the pity where he can get it - he's saying yes, to the pool thing. Gotta get out there and do something. Have some fun. He's got this voice in his head that sounds like his Mom, saying, "Why aren't you having fun? Go be smiling."  
  
It's just the three of them. The house is... pretty big, actually. The homeowner's a silicon valley type, sold a startup, made bank. The pool is _nice_ , as backyard pools go. Kind of shaped like a kidney. It's going on 7pm, and it sounds like cicadas, and the echo of city streets, and the scrape of bare feet against poolside tiling and concrete.  
  
Joe and Brock have this awkward exchange by the grill, where Joe offers to mind the grilling, and Brock says he's got it, it's really no trouble, but then Benny coos at Brock from the pool, and Brock stares at the water longingly like a puppy staring out a window. So Joe just grabs Brock's wrist, prying the spatula from his grip and then shoving him gently towards the pool.  
  
See, position players have more fun, right. And it's _easy_ for Benny and Brock to goof around with each other - Joe likes to goof around too, but sometimes he feels like all the time in the bullpen made him just as eccentric as all the other major league pitchers. Sometimes he feels a little bit like an alien. Like he's spending a little bit too much time around Sale, and not enough time around Mitch. No offense to Sale.  
  
Appointing himself to mind the burgers and the vegetables at least gives him something to do.  
  
There's a huge splash from the pool - the force of a 200lb man jumping in, shins first. The two of them are a tangle of laughter and limbs and bubbles in the water.  
  
He shifts his weight. It's something he misses - the roughhousing. Sometimes Sandy grabs him around the front, gives him a good noogie, but it's a rare thing. Sometimes the bullpen guys shove each other around and laugh. It's - they're fine, it's fine. It's just not enough, sometimes. Sometimes he catches himself trying to insert himself into Benny and Brock's conversations on cross-country flights just to feel like he's part of whatever it is that they have.  
  
They eat. The burgers turn out alright; a little dry, maybe. They argue about home cooking, spices, where to get the hardcore breeds of peppers. For what's probably the fiftieth time, Joe promises to teach Benny how to longboard, knowing full well that they'll probably never get around to actually making time for it, and, moreover, that Benny probably doesn't have the patience to practice at it. So many other things to be doing, in his life right now. Prime of Benny's life, or something.  
  
"You still haven't gotten wet," Benny complains, when they've polished off the burgers. He stands up, and tucks his chair back under the glass deck table with finality. "Come on."  
  
"You're not supposed to swim right after eating," Joe points out, even as he's standing up and tugging his shirt over his head.  
  
When they get him over to the pool, and Benny's already in the water, Joe stands at the edge of the deck for a moment, looking down thoughtfully into the dark blue water. It's getting harder to see, now that the sun has mostly set.  
  
"Oh, hey," says Brock from the little controls box. He flips a switch, and the underwater lights come on. With the lights, Joe notices how Benny's trunks are billowing around and outwards from his thighs, like a jellyfish.  
  
"Is it cold?" Joe asks, pointlessly.  
  
He’s not exactly surprised, when Brock comes up behind him and shoves him, but he still yelps before he hits the water. Then there’s the silence when his head’s underwater. He forces himself to open his eyes through the sting of the chlorine - he sees the impact of Brock jumping in behind him, the distorted glow of the pool lights through the explosion of bubbles.

When Joe comes up for air, his hair is plastered down to his scalp, and he tries to wipe the water away from his eyes. Benny and Brock are trading half-true stories about middle school swim classes, and then Brock shows off that he still knows how to do the breaststroke.

Again, the billow of swim trunks under the water, the kick of Brock’s ankles, the flicker of his shoulder blades naked in the incandescent glow of the porch lights. And then, when Joe averts his eyes in shame, his gaze instead then settles on the little track of dark hairs around Benny’s navel. The bluish-purple lights wash out Benny’s skin so the hair looks especially dark. And then Benny’s stomach tightens when he laughs, and Joe can see the hint of core muscles outlined beneath the skin.

“What about the other one?” Benny calls to Brock at the other end of the pool. “What was it?”

“Butterfly stroke?” Brock drawls, “I gotcha.” And then he takes off.

Joe sinks under the water and shuts his eyes. Tries not to think about Benny’s nipples, or Brock’s shoulders, or the dark line of farmer’s tan that neatly splits both their biceps. Tries not to think about the hair down Benny’s legs, or the way it felt when he took the spatula from Brock earlier, and their fingers touched.

It’s like Joe doesn’t know how to be just a _dude_ anymore. Can’t have these uncomplicated friendships because every half-second he starts thinking about how much he longs to be touched, by anyone. Anyone.

Joe feels a tap on his shoulder, and opens his eyes under the water. It’s Benny, squinting against the chlorine, the wrinkle of his laugh lines prominent around his eyes, and his long curls twirling in the water behind his head. He says something, air bubbling out of his mouth and obscuring the words.

When he breaches the surface of the pool, Joe gasps for air. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been under. Benny’s hand is on his shoulder, slippery in the water. “You good?” he asks Joe.

Joe nods. “Mmhmm.”

Then things are quiet. The silence feels odd. Joe didn’t expect to have to put effort into maintaining the momentum of the conversation. The discomfort makes him think that maybe it’s time for him to leave. He should get out of the pool, wipe off with a towel, put his shirt back on, and catch an uber back to the team hotel. At least then he could relax, instead of feeling so wound up and strange, and on the outside looking in.

Benny’s eyes meet Brock’s, like they’re having a conversation without words that Joe isn’t a part of. And it lasts awhile. And the cicadas drone on. Joe drifts over towards the edge of the pool, toying with the idea of leaving and trying to calculate if there’s any way to do so without it seeming odd.

“Hey, Kelly?” says Brock.

Joe turns back around to face them. He smiles tightly, tilts his head, and tries, _desperately_ , to be one of the guys again. “Yeah?”  

The cool concrete wall presses against Joe’s back.

Brock treads water, and keeps glancing at Benny as he speaks to Joe. “Listen, uh, you’ve been pretty tense lately, and we thought maybe bringing you out here would help."

“But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much,” Benny cuts in, “So we thought -”

“I’m sorry,” Joe interrupts. He doesn’t want them to feel like they did anything wrong. “You two are really good at being comfortable socially, and I’m - that’s something that’s hard for me. I have a hard time relaxing around friends, but none of that has to do with you.”

Benny swims closer, and Joe can’t manage to look at anything but the movement of his body in the water, all that skin.

“Can I touch you,” Benny says.

“What?”

And then -

Some touch is incidental, and some touch is intentional; this is the latter. This is thumbs digging into the muscle of Joe’s neck, his shoulders, down his biceps and forearms. Benny is - massaging him, an awkward task because they are facing one another, but still intense and effective. The pressure of it, Benny’s fingers moving all down Joe’s skin under the water. And Benny’s face is so close, and Joe can’t look at him. Can’t speak to him. Can’t look him in the eyes. Joe stares at the divet of Benny’s collarbone and focuses on keeping his breathing even.

Brock drifts closer, and hoists himself onto the pool deck, sitting out of the water with his legs dangling in. He watches from above Joe. Watches them.

“What - what -” Joe whispers, trying to say, _what is this - what do you want me to do, here - how do I…_

“Relax,” Benny says, coaxingly - the tone of his voice still entirely casual, comfortable and unperturbed.

Joe can’t move - trapped between Benny, Brock, and the wall of the pool.

Shutting his eyes and leaning his head all the way back towards the sky, Brock makes a _tsk_ sound. “You gotta ask him if he wants you to, first.”

Benny huffs, “Obviously, I was _going_ to,” and he doesn’t stop rubbing circles into Joe’s biceps, the tension just _melting_ beneath his fingers - Joe trembles, can’t look up. Can’t stop staring at the waistband of Benny’s swim trunks, distorted and refracted.

Brock says, “You gotta ask him _now_ , Andrew.”

“But I haven’t even-”

“Yeah, but you got him cornered against the wall,” Brock says, opening his eyes again and gesturing at Joe. “Look at him; he’s terrified.”

“Oh,” says Benny, and he lets go, and he backs away a few inches, and as much as Joe mourns the absence of that touch, it’s like he can _breathe_ again. He can breathe and - now that Benny’s backed off, his gaze is trained on the floor of the pool, the featureless blue and his own toes.

“I-” Joe tries to say, still staring at the floor. “I’m not terrified, I’m just… I-”

Benny puts up his hands, non-threateningly, “No big deal, man,” he says, with an easy smile.

“Please don’t stop,” Joe says, hardly a whisper. He feels like parts of his brain are shutting down and restarting, like he’s only working on twenty percent capacity and he can’t think, but he needs this - this - this.

Someone’s fingers - Brock’s - glide gently over the wet mat of Joe’s hair, an absently affectionate gesture. Benny drifts closer. The water displaces around him - the heat and proximity of Benny’s body make things feel warmer.

Benny reaches out, hovers his hand just a few inches from touching the crotch of Joe’s swim trunks, and as soon as Benny’s forming the words “Can I touch you… here?” Joe is nodding, nodding fervently.

And it’s like an out of body experience - watching as, under the water, Benny pulls the waistband out and away from Joe’s hips, and Joe can see down into his own shorts, the thatch of pubic hair and his mostly soft cock.

Benny takes it in his hand, the gentlest touch so much more intense when it’s under the cool water. “We’ll just - take the edge off, okay?” he murmurs, and as he starts to stroke, he also presses a kiss against Joe’s jaw, and Joe’s view of the pool floor and his own body is blocked by the pale naked skin of Benny’s shoulder, freckled and damp. The movement of Benny’s body causes miniature waves to crest and slap against the tiled wall either side of Joe.

“Yeah,” Brock croons, patting the top of Joe’s head approvingly. “Take it easy, man.”

Joe can feel himself getting harder - almost instantaneously. Benny’s mouth is still pressing small kisses just under Joe’s ear, and with his free hand his thumb is tweaking Joe’s nipple, barely under the surface of the water, already pebbled up and sensitive.  And then one of Benny’s fingers swipes the head of Joe’s cock and Joe can’t control himself, he bucks into it, a little reflexive kick of his hips - he’s panting, already, just panting and wordless and wide-eyed and sightless.

Both Benny and Brock seem so relaxed. Like this is something they do often. Like they’ve been doing this for ages.

Do other people do this, and just never with Joe?

The pressure building up in the base of Joe’s gut almost _hurts,_ it’s so intense, so strained. Like Benny’s dexterous fingers are tugging something out of Joe’s body that’s been rooted there for a long time.

Benny starts pumping Joe’s cock, taking him all the way out of his trunks - the waistband elastic snaps into place underneath Joe’s balls. Joe opens his hips more, unthinking, spreads his legs for Benny’s touch - and then he hears Benny whispering encouragements to him, breathy and wet, _“Yeah,_ alright man, I gotcha… c’mon, baby… you’ll feel better...”

When he comes, his face is tucked against Benny’s shoulder, and he’s whimpering, and he’s not sure when either of those things started. Benny pumps him through it - a swish in the water with the rhythm of his hand.

Benny tucks Joe back into his trunks and pats his hip. “There you go.”

“Did that help?” asks Brock, with vague amusement. Joe still hasn’t lifted his face from Benny’s skin and he’s not planning on it anytime soon. The closeness… now that the blood isn’t pumping hard in his ears he can hear the faraway sounds of the city again, and the cicadas and the summer ambiance.

“Help what?” Joe mumbles, still muffled by Benny’s body. If Benny were to start to disentangle himself from Joe, Joe would grab at him and whine, reflexively, which would be embarrassing, so it’s good that Benny stays put right where he is, crowding Joe against the wall of the pool.

“We just wanted to help you relax,” Benny reiterates, softly.

“Do you - is this what you two usually do?” Joe lifts his head, slightly, still staring at Benny’s skin, pink from the touch. “To relax?”

Brock grins, kicks his feet a bit in the water. “Sure!” he says. “All the time. What’s a handjob between friends?”

“Sometimes a buddy needs some TLC,” Benny adds, his voice all slow and satisfied. “Thought you might appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” says Joe, pensively. He fastens his fingers around Benny’s hips, feels the puff of Benny’s breath between their bodies. The touch, the proximity - like a drug, he feels it in his system, settling into his muscles, distributed through his blood. Everything has slowed down, now, and there’s no urge to grab his stuff and leave. He feels like he’s in his body again, and everything is steady, and warm.

He feels like he could jump off a bridge and live. He feels like a superhero. He feels like he just wants to show Brock and Benny - show them. Show them that… now he _can_ , he can be one of them, he can be comfortable and relaxed and _confident,_ he feels like _himself_ again.

“Yeah,” Joe says again, still not looking up at either of them. “Yeah, listen, can - can we go back into the house? I’d like to - I’d like to show you _just how much_ I appreciate it.”

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked it!


End file.
